me and
see us in the country. I'll tell him where we are going."

They talked of possible retreats, and decided upon Epsom, which was not
far from their old home at Ewell; then Mrs. Hannaford replied to Otway.
Through the past three years she had often heard from him, and she knew
that he was purposing a visit to England, but no date had been
mentioned. After writing, she was silent, thoughtful. Olga, too, having
been out to post the letter, sat absorbed in her own meditations. They
did some hasty packing before bedtime, but talked little. They were to
rise early, and flee at once from the hated house.

A sunny morning--it was July--saw them start on their journey,
tremulous, but rejoicing. Long before midday they had found lodgings
that suited them, and had made themselves at home. The sense of liberty
gave everything a delightful aspect; their little sitting-room was
perfection the trees and fields had an ideal beauty after Hammersmith,
and they promised themselves breezy walks on the Downs above. Not a
word of the trouble between them. The mother held to a hope that the
great change of circumstance would insensibly turn Olga's thoughts from
her reckless purpose; and, for the moment, Olga herself seemed happy in
self-forgetfulness.

The man to whom she had plighted herself was named Kite. He did not
look like a bird of prey; his countenance, his speech, were anything
but sinister; but for his unlucky position, Mrs. Hannaford would
probably have rather taken to him. Olga's announcement came with
startling suddenness. For a twelvemonth she had been trying to make
money by artistic work, and to a small extent had succeeded, managing
to sell a few drawings to weekly papers, and even to get a poor little
commission for the illustrating of a poor little book. In this way she
had made a few acquaintances in the so-called Bohemian world, but she
spoke seldom of them, and Mrs. Hannaford suspected no special intimacy
with anyone whose name was mentioned to her. One evening (a week ago)
Olga said quietly that she was going to be married.

Mr. Kite was summoned to Hammersmith. A lank, loose-limbed,
indolent-looking man of thirty or so, with a long, thin face, tangled
hair, gentle eyes. The clothes he wore were decent, but suggested the
idea that they had been purchased at second-hand; they did not fit him
well; perhaps he was the kind of man whose clothes never do fit. Unless
Mrs. Hannaford was mistaken, his breath wafted an